Time Yet For A Hundred Indecisions
by danniisupernova
Summary: Dexter is having some issues with personal space since Deb moved in.  Set between Seasons 1 & 2. Huge spoilers for S1.
1. like a patient etherised upon a table

_You know, you'll ruin her_.

.

"Back the fuck off my brother, he just saved my life! He's a fucking hero! I want you to treat him that way, goddammit!"

Dexter pulls her aside. The scene is good cover for Doakes (_for now_) but Deb is clearly upset. _Upset doesn't feel like the right word…_

He watches her shake and can see all the holes where this tore through her. He would feel anger if he could, maybe sadness. But as it stands, there's nothing; as usual.

.

He stared at her occasionally. Harry always missed it: at the dinner table, during a movie, at the beach. He can remember the aquarium glow the television cast across her face, staining her skin a pale blue-green and her hair an inky black.

Everything about her was perfect; she seemed to react properly to everything, as if Harry had written her every line of dialogue and choreographed her actions to simplistic, deadly accurate humanity.

She was everything he wanted to be.

.

"I can't. Not Deb."

"No, no, don't say that."

"I'm very…fond of her."

He had chosen her. He chose her. In the end, it had been nurture over nature. Psychology over biology. Fiction over reality. It felt so…sentimental.

Later though, in the ambulance, it hadn't felt sentimental. It had felt animal. He wanted to curl around her, hide her, tear that ring, that shitting, fucking ring, off her finger.

He had thought about how easy it would be to slide his thumbs into the waistband of her borrowed sweats, to jerk down the zipper on the jacket, flaying the dark open to expose the pale, white dune of her midriff. He could press his lips there. (_slightly up and away from her hip_)

They broke apart and Dexter noted (_concernedly, of course: it was Debra_) she had no idea how perfect she was, the embodiment of all of Harry's ideals, the faithful disciple. She was simply…_real _he thought. _She's real._

.

They were seventeen. They were fighting.

Well, Deb was fighting.

Harry was ignoring her, paying too much attention to him, business as usual. Deb was crying, strands of her long brown hair sticking to cheeks and her glasses fogged from the heat of her face. She was furious, though he could tell she wanted to be screaming at Harry, not him. He felt sorry for her.

She paused in her tirade (_why can't you act normal? why can't you have friends?_), her breath hitching in angry sobs. Dexter reached out and touched her cheek, wiping away some of the tears and brushing her hair off her face.

He suddenly realized they were too close.

They both leaned in. Her lips, chapped and rough, were so close to his. He could feel her hot breath on his skin. She brushed her nose against his. He wanted to kiss her. He had kissed girls before, but it had never felt anything like this, with this promise of sweetness. This promise of being _real_.

Without thinking he pushed forward and just as his lips touched hers, she pulled back.

"I can't." She turned away, a fresh wave of tears breaking on her face. She ran from him. But she never told Harry, not ever.

.

"Dex."

"Dex."

"Dex!"

He wakes up to see Deb standing over him.

"Can you…could you come sleep with me?" He stares at her. She looks away from him, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I know how it sounds…I just can't sleep. I just keep thinking…and I can't stop fucking thinking you know?" He nods. He does know.

She turns and walks back into to his bedroom and he follows her. Harry is in his head, telling him how he needs to protect Deb, to protect her from himself. He's a monster, isn't he? He killed his own brother.

_Because he would have killed Deb_.

Dexter looks at the pale skin on Deb's coltish legs and where it disappears into the baggy grey fabric of her shorts. He could pull them off of her in one tug. He could bite her hip, sucking at the spot where the bone stretched her skin thin. He could slide her t-shirt up her belly, up over her breasts-

He lays down. Deb lies next to him, turning her back.

"Deb?" He reaches out, touching her arm. He waits for her to flinch away. But she just lies there, shaking a little. "Deb?" She lets out a muffled sob. Gently, as gently as he can, he turns her over so she's facing him. She's crying and she mumbles "Dex…" and twines her long, thin arms around his neck, hiding her face against his shoulder.

He doesn't know what to do, so he holds her. He knows this is usually comforting to Rita.

_Rita…_

He's not sure if this is infidelity.

.

"You know, you'll ruin her." He and Harry were sitting alone behind the house. They had been doing yard work and had taken a break for Harry to drink a beer.

Dexter felt a pang of panic go through his belly. "Who, Da-" He's cut off with a stern look. "You know damn well what I'm talking about Dex."

"Dad, I swear, I-" Harry silenced him with another look. "Whatever this is, however you feel, you bury it, understand? Debra has a bright future. One day, she's going to make some man very happy. _But it will never be you._" He takes a swig of his beer.

"Don't worry, son. One day, no one will remember this. Not even you."

Harry smiled at him, the benevolent, all-knowing God.

.

There's a wall between them. It's as thin as air and as impenetrable as a fortress.

She runs, all day, she runs. She runs when she can't sleep, when she can't eat. She runs when she can't go outside. Dexter lays awake all night, listening to the sound of the treadmill. He stares at the ceiling, letting the seconds tick away into dawn. Two weeks since he's killed his brother. Two weeks since Deb was destroyed.

He gets up and quietly walks over to the door of the bedroom. It's opened a crack. He puts his eye to it. Deb's ears are plugged with her white earbuds. The sound of heavy guitars leaks out of them.

.

They were fourteen.

Deb has snuck the tape past Harry in her pocket. Dexter sat on Deb's bed, watching her fumble as she took it out, dropping the cassette box on the floor as she shelled the tape from it. It clattered as she slapped it into the player.

She was so excited for him to listen to it. He didn't really know why, music didn't really do much for him. He watched her press play and frantically dance, jumping up and down, playing air-guitar and banging her head, flipping her long hair into huge circles.

"C'mon Dex, don't you like to dance?" She extended her hand to him. He stared at her, unsure if he should take it.

.

_Personal space is key for the professional serial killer. _

Dexter thinks this as he picks up Deb's dirty clothes off the bathroom floor, avoiding touching or looking at her underwear. When he sees the rest of the apartment, it occurs to him that this is just the tip of the ice burg.

He sighs heavily, tossing the ball of clothes into the laundry basket.

.

"God, Dexter, what the _fuck_ is your problem?"

"I-I-I-" He was stuttering at her, trying to only look down at the floor.

They were sixteen.

Dexter had walked into the bathroom while Deb was in the bathtub. He'd seen her right away, but she hadn't seen him. Her head was thrown back, her hand between her legs. Dexter could hear her jagged breathing. He watched her eyelids flutter and then she let out a moan. He looked straight down at the floor, his face flushing.

To this day, Dexter cannot remember making any noise at all, but he must have, because Deb opened her eyes. She saw him and shrieked.

"GET OUT!" She covered her breasts with her hands, fury etched into every line of her face. She stood up and snatched a towel off the rack. Dexter was paralyzed with fear. To him, Deb might as well have been a charging elephant. He was rooted to the spot, even as she clumsily slapped him across the face.

She pushed him, trying to cover herself with the towel at the same time. She opened the door and pushed him out.

"God, Dexter, what the _fuck_ is your problem?"

"I-I-I-" He stared at her, unable to speak. "I-I didn't see…" She slammed the door in his face. He retreated to his room, unable to tear his eyes off the floor.

She didn't talk to him for a week. But when Harry asked her what their fight was about at dinner that night, Deb simply said that Dexter accidentally walked into the bathroom while she was in there. He had looked at her across the table, hoping that she would make some sign to him, indicating that all was forgiven.

It never came.

.

If asked, Dexter doesn't think he could explain why he had to kill Brian. Brian had been his friend, Brian had been his brother. When Brian had looked into his eyes and mocked the code and had the audacity to ask him why, Dexter had told him it was for Deb's safety; for his _sister's_ safety.

_She's not your sister…_

Everyday he remembers the feel of his brother's skin giving way to a blade. Everyday he sees the betrayal in Biney's eyes. And everyday, he looks at Deb, wounded, holy and full of a kind of grace he knows he will never achieve, not in this life and regrets nothing.


	2. decisions and revisions

_You know, you'll ruin her. _

.

"Back the fuck off my brother, he just saved my life! He's a fucking hero! I want you to treat him that way, goddammit!"

Dexter pulls her aside.

Deb can barely see she is so angry. She is absolutely terrified and, she's sure, somewhere deep inside, completely heartbroken. Dexter is just staring her, his eyes filled with fear. She feels a fierce swoop of love for him in the pit of her stomach.

.

She couldn't remember a time that Dexter hadn't stared at her. Her entire life she could remember feeling him watching her. This had never bothered her. Well, almost never. After all, Dexter loved her. And she loved him, and she hated him. Just like she'd always been sure that he loved her, she knew that he hated her too.

She could never explain if she was asked, but as her first answer to any such question would have produced a pipebomb sized explosion of expletives and the sort of language that would prompt a 'you kiss your mother with that mouth' exclamation from any English speaking adult in the vicinity of Deb's mouth, she was not likely to be asked.

So she didn't worry about it.

.

When she looks back on the night in question, everything begins to blur together.

She remembers the complete and absolute mind-numbing terror that had gripped her. And she remembers practically peeing on herself in the trunk of the stolen car, scared and unable to go to the bathroom for hours. She remembers repeating over and over to herself in her head not to pee, because if she did, he might just shoot her while he laughed, just to pour table salt in the proverbial wound.

She can also remember the blurry vision of Dexter that had come into focus, just as everything had seemed the bleakest, darkest and closest to (_death_) doom.

After that, her memories are a bit blurred (not shouting at Doakes though, that had been completely clear). In the ambulance she remembers Dexter holding her while she cried. He had looked at her so lovingly, as if she was so perfect, just for existing. Then, for a moment, she sees something in his eyes that scares her, something that she's never noticed before.

She's stung then, in the morning, when she wakes up alone in the hospital. She starts to cry, a little at first, the sobs expanding out of her like a supernova. By the time her mascara from three days before has migrated in graying streaks on her cheeks, she realizes that she's crying with relief.

.

They were seventeen. They were fighting.

Well, she was fighting. Dexter was just staring at her, apathetic and blank as usual. Harry barely spoke to her lately, except to correct her. She felt fat, ugly, flat-chested, stupid and, worst of all, useless. Her glasses, which were fogged, just reminded her of all of that, fueling her anger. Her adolescent despair felt like it was reaching fever pitch, with this crushing frustration. She knew that Harry loves Dexter more. She feels like he needs to remember why people should hate him, just like her.

She screamed at him, telling him that he had no friends and that he was a freak. She knew all the names that the older boys called him on the playground. Every single one that flew out of her mouth felt like a knick in her heart. Suddenly he reached out, cupping her cheek, wiping a tear off her hot skin with his thumb. He had taken a step towards her to do this. They caught each other's eyes.

Deb leaned in. It was almost instinctive. She could feel blood rushing through her body, from her face to her toes. She took a breath, suddenly completely unsure what was going to happen next. He'd leaned toward her and his lips were almost touching hers. For some reason she leaned even closer, brushing her nose against his, inducing a renewal of the rushing sound in her ears. She can hear her heart beat.

She's so close, she's so _fucking_ close to him, when she realized that she had never kissed a boy before and the idea of where this could lead…it freaked her out so badly that she almost pushed Dexter away from her. But she hesitated and he leaned in and _oh god, oh god, what what what_ he's kissing her and she's kissing him and-

Deb pulled away. "I can't." She turned away and ran, not looking back. She didn't want him to see her face. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

But she never told Harry, no, not ever.

.

She's so fucking embarrassed that she's doing this. She puts a hand on his shoulder and starts to jostle him a little.

"Dex."

"Dex."

"Dex!"

He opens his eyes sleepily. After about five seconds, he looks up, completely alert again, like he'd never been asleep at all. "Can you…could you come sleep with me?" She's blushing and so she looks away, not wanting to look him in the eyes. Ever since they were young, she's tried hard not to give him the wrong idea about them.

She knows she loves him, she knows he loves her and that is the only thing she's sure of, but at least she's damn sure of it. "I know how it sounds…I just can't sleep. I just keep thinking…and I can't stop fucking thinking you know?" She can't stand to look him in the eyes any longer. She thinks about how normal and happy Rudy had made her feel. Then she thinks about how he had wanted to slit her throat and hang her upside down, draining all her blood into an oil pan. She feels decidedly less normal. But it is nothing compared to how she feels when Dexter lies down next to her.

She turns her back to him immediately. "Deb?" He reaches out, touching her arm. She just lies there. Tears begin to slide down her face _again_ and she feels like some hysterical woman in an episode of Flash Gordon or something. "Deb?" She can hear the worry in his voice, she can hear how much he loves her _in his voice_. She almost thinks that she could hear it in Rudy's voice too. But instead, she puts her arms around his neck. She knows that she's not supposed to be doing this. She knows….well, she might know how he feels about her. He loves her and she loves him. Whatever that needs to mean.

She hides her face in the warm skin of his chest, feeling impossibly fragile, like a glass figurine of a girl. She hates it and hates it and then he puts his arms around her and squeezes a little, almost as if to prove how strong she still is.

.

"You know, you'll ruin her."

She heard Harry's voice through the open kitchen window. She had been washing the dishes, enjoying the sound of the yard work and the dimming afternoon coming through the open window while she worked. She saw them, sitting with their backs to her.

"Who Da-"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about Dex." She'd never heard her dad talk to Dexter like that before. She could see the look on Dexter's face when he turned to look a Dad. He looked panicked, like a deer caught in the oncoming lights of its slow and painful death.

"Dad I swear, I-" She leaned a little further out the window, trying to hear everything that was being said. "Whatever this is, however you feel, you bury it, understand? Debra has a bright future. One day-"

"Debra!"

Her mother called from her bedroom. "Debra! Debra Morgan, you get in here and you help me fold these clothes!" Deb turned back to the window to see Dad taking a sip of beer and clapping Dexter on the back, smiling at him.

.

She can feel herself pushing away from him.

All she does all day is run. She can't get off the treadmill. As soon as she does, she knows that all the thoughts she's been running from will catch up. When she ran as much as she was, she knew how to be just that little bit faster then them. She doesn't see herself wrapped in butcher paper and twine, chopped up like a cow, drained and in pieces. She wonders what would have happened if Dexter had not saved her.

She listens to Metallica, _The Black Album_, over and over. It reminds her of when she was fourteen and invincible.

.

The tape is some of the first contraband they ever had. Deb gets it from a cute junior at school, whose hair was too long and who wore a denim vest with studs on it. He will try to sell her weed later, something that she will be extremely offended by.

Dexter stared at her while she danced. She couldn't tell if he liked it or not. She wanted him too, she wanted this to be their secret, and it was a good secret. She loves it, even though it's not really her style. It was forbidden and this made it incredibly good. She turned to Dexter and asked him to dance with her.

She can't remember what he said.

.

She hates leaving the apartment a mess. But she gets so distracted. She finds herself staring into space for spaces as long as fifteen minutes.

She remembers sitting down to put on socks and sneakers, ready to start running again, ready to drown out the world with the angriest music she has (_ a mix of Britney Spears and Marilyn Manson_). She thinks about how good Rudy was in bed. She wonders if this reflects on her somehow. Does she have some weird fetish? Was she raised wrong? Why had she wanted to sleep with him in the first place? Did she just scream desperate or something?

Dexter pokes his head into the room, making her jump. "Deb, do you think you could pick up your clothes? I just had to touch your dirty underwear and I haven't quite recovered yet." She stares at him, a hurt look on her face.

"You look like you'll survive." He stares at her. She goes back to putting her shoes on. He sighs, throwing his hands up, frustration seeming to emanate from every goddamned cell in his body.

.

"God, Dexter, what the _fuck_ is your problem?"

"I-I-I-" He was stuttering at her, trying to only look down at the floor.

They were sixteen.

She doesn't remember him coming in. At least that's what she's convinced herself. She doesn't want to believe the alternative.

She'd been sure she was alone, so when she heard the sharp breath, so close to her, she had been completely horrified. She had never thought that getting caught would scare her so much. And it was Dexter, Dexter standing there, staring at the floor, face flushed.

"GET OUT!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. At this point, she didn't care if Dad, Mom and the whole goddamned, cocksucking neighborhood heard her. She snatched a towel, trying to wrap it around herself and failing in her panic. She saw his eyes dart towards her breasts as her towel fell. She slapped Dexter, more out of instinct then anything.

She stared to push him, her panic growing for some reason. "God, Dexter, what the _fuck_ is your problem?" "I-I-I-" he was staring at her. She pushed him across the threshold and slammed the door in his face.

She hid her face in the towel she had. She pressed it into her mouth and screamed, muffling it the best she could. She had seen…_something_ in Dexter's eyes when he looked at her. She had slapped him because it had frightened her so much, she couldn't stand to even look at him.

.

She can still see it in Dexter's eyes, every now and then. He will look at her and her blood will rush to her head and she will feel an insane sweep of panic and want. She'll have to turn away from him, because the feelings are so bright inside her as to burn.

She doesn't know why she sees Rudy when she looks into Dexter's eyes. She is furious with herself for all of this. He loves her (_just like Brian loved her_) and she loves him (_just like she loved Dad_) but sometimes she knows her love isn't right, that it would make Dad furious.

She hopes that she didn't ruin everything, forever.


End file.
